


A Summoning at Thornhill

by HoboButterfly



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor, Supernatural - Freeform, Vaguely AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoboButterfly/pseuds/HoboButterfly
Summary: "Archie told me that Jason told him and the Bulldogs that Thornhill is haunted," Betty said."Yeah, so what?" Cheryl asked. "It's just a dumb rumor that people have been spreading since the beginning of time."[Or, Betty, Jughead, Cheryl, and Veronica end up spending a very long night at Thornhill together. Bughead and hints of Cheronica.]





	1. At the Request of Veronica Lodge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Father’s Day to all the sick, twisted, dead, and/or abusive fathers of Riverdale (and also Fred Andrews)! As your gift, I’m posting this fic.
> 
> So here we go! A multichap! My first multichap since the sixth grade when I wrote Victorious fanfictions and never finished them! This one I promise I’ll finish tho. I promise.
> 
> Anyway, so this is just sort of a fun story about Betty, Cheryl, Jughead, and Veronica because I’m on summer break and don’t have a job. It's vaguely AU, as in "Riverdale is basically the same place but Jason Blossom never died so everything's kind of OK".
> 
> Don’t take it too seriously, it’s not meant to be too dramatic or anything; it’s pretty lighthearted. Enjoy the ride and please drop a comment if you get the chance!

**Riverdale High Gymnasium- Friday, 4:00 P.M.**

“River Vixens, reassemble,” Cheryl’s voice echoed across the gymnasium. “We were sloppy today. _You_ were sloppy today. Work on it.” Cheryl turned coldly from her subjects and began packing her stuff, another day of practice under her belt.

“Hey, Cheryl,” Veronica’s voice came behind her.

Cheryl whirled and narrowed her eyes at Veronica, who had Betty nipping at her heels, as always.

“If you girls don’t want the River Vixens to crash and burn at the last assembly next week, you need to practice harder,” Cheryl said harshly.

“Yeah, okay,” Veronica obliged as Betty nodded wordlessly. “But I wanted to ask you something, actually.”

Cheryl raised an eyebrow dangerously.

“Archie told me that Jason told him and the Bulldogs that Thornhill is haunted,” Betty said.

“Yeah, so what?” Cheryl asked. “It’s just a dumb rumor that people have been spreading since the beginning of time.”

“That’s what Archie said,” Veronica told her. “And to that, Jason said that if he didn’t believe the place is haunted, he should stay the night and see for himself. So Archie is coming to your house to sleep over with Jason tonight.”

Cheryl shot her a look. “Are you suggesting that Gingerbread and my brother are banging tonight?”

“What? No!” Betty sputtered.

“We just want to know if it’s actually true,” Veronica said.

“Well, it’s not. And Archie is going to see that tonight. End of discussion.”

Cheryl brushed her bright red hair behind to her side, shouldered her bag and walked out of the gym, leaving Betty and Veronica alone to wonder what Archie and Jason would find that night.

**Pop’s Chock‘Lit Shoppe- Friday, 6:00 P.M.**

Cheryl had nothing better to do than grab a milkshake at Pop’s while Archie and Jason ate dinner at Thornhill.

She was waiting for her strawberry milkshake when Betty and Veronica caught her eye, sitting in a booth and eating burgers.

She considered leaving, returning to the house after taking her milkshake without a word to Betty or Veronica, but her parents were out of town and the boys were probably going to be occupied, so she swung into the booth and sat down next to Betty to stare down Veronica with a bright smile.

“I’ve decided to take you up on your offer, Veronica,” Cheryl smiled.

Veronica’s face twisted in confusion. “What offer?”

“How you wanted to know if there was really a ghost at Thornhill. And you wanted to come over to see.”

Veronica narrowed her eyes. “I never asked to come over.”

“And now you don’t have to!” Cheryl clapped her hands together in saccharine delight. “I’m _cordially inviting_ you to stay the night, Veronica. At your request, of course.”

“But I never requested—” Veronica tried to protest.

“I’ll drive you over after you finish your dinner,” Cheryl continued. “We can stop at your house and pick up your stuff and then I’ll drive us back to my house.”

“Can Betty at least come?” Veronica huffed, motioning to the blonde girl in the booth who Cheryl might as well not have even noticed.

Cheryl turned her head, looked Betty up and down, and then declared, “If she must.”

“Fine,” Betty agreed. “But I’m telling my mom I’m going to Veronica’s.” Given the Coopers’ epic grudge against the Blossoms, Betty couldn’t let her mother know that she was going to their mansion.

There was to be no more discussion; it had been decided. So, Cheryl waited in the booth with Betty and Veronica, sipping her milkshake as they finished their burgers, pretending not to notice how begrudgingly they addressed her in their conversations.

**Thornhill- Friday, 7:30 P.M.**

As Cheryl’s convertible, probably worth more than everything Betty owned combined, rolled over the gravel up the driveway of Thornhill, Betty recalled the past times she’d been there.

High school parties, mostly, but she had come to Thornhill once, back when she was a child. It was a birthday party for Cheryl and Jason, and because her parents would be out of the house, Betty had had to choose between running errands all day with her parents or coming to the party with Polly.

She’d chosen the party, but wished she hadn’t as soon as she’d caught sight of Thornhill.

Great pointed dormers stretched into the sky and the jet-black shingles that covered the roof like scales on a dragon invaded the sky’s bright and cheerful colors, obstructed the view no matter where she looked.

Today, the house looked just as she remembered; every bit as scary. In the early summer, the sunset was rendered eerie and ominous as the backdrop of Thornhill.

The gates swung open; big black metal things with heraldic letters wrought into them, Roman numerals below with a Latin phrase to match.

 _RADICES CURRERE ABYSSI_ , the gate read like a warning.

Betty remembered again the birthday party, the feeling of her skin crawling the whole time, feeling like she was being watched.

She had always felt that way at high school parties hosted by the Blossoms, but she was older then, and surrounded by drunk party students, which were creepy in and of themselves, enough to take her mind off of whatever lingered in Thornhill’s shadows.

As she entered the house through the massive front doors which were anything but welcoming, a chill ran down her spine. She felt violently out of place, light and bright and blonde in the face of all the bold darkness. This was Cheryl’s home, she was a creature of darkness. She belonged. Veronica was strong and confident, dark eyes and hair settling into the dark house effortlessly. She could survive here too, but Betty?

Suddenly she was eight years old again, cowering behind Polly as her sister placed their present for the twins on the dining table.

Paranoia or something more?

 _Paranoia_ , she told herself. It was just the mansion, the way it was dark and vast and played up in such a way that one’s mind couldn’t help but imagine things lurking all around.

“How do you _live_ here?” Betty blurted out, horror dripping from her voice.

Cheryl turned and glared. “No one asked you to come, Betty. If you’re scared, you can leave, but allow me to remind you that you are not six years old and this isn’t the haunted funhouse at the state fair. There is no reason to be scared.”

Betty reddened and Veronica placed one hand on her shoulder as wordless comfort before changing the subject.

“So where are the guys?”

“I don’t know,” Cheryl said, leading the girls up the stairs. “Probably Jason’s room. But our parents are out of town and the staff’s got the night off, so really, they could be anywhere.”

At the top of the stairs, Cheryl turned right and lead the girls down a long, dark hallway. Despite its size and age, though, everything was incredibly well-kept.

No dust, no clutter, no signs of decay or wearing on the walls or floors.

They walked in silence until reaching Jason’s room, when Cheryl called for Archie and her brother and swung open the door.

Empty.

Again, a chill ran up Betty’s spine. She didn’t trust the house and she didn’t trust Cheryl.

She took a step closer to Veronica.

“So where do think they are?” she asked.

Cheryl shrugged. “Downstairs, maybe? I really don’t care.”

Veronica look concerned, too. “We should find them,” she said.

Cheryl eyed Veronica. “I hope you didn’t ask to come just so you could hit on Archie or my brother all night. That would be kind of sad.”

“I didn’t ask to come at all!” Veronica objected.

“Whatever,” Cheryl said with a faux smile. “They’re probably downstairs.”

They were not downstairs, the girls found upon inspection. Still, Cheryl waved one hand and told them it was no big deal.

“It’s a big house. A big estate. They could be anywhere.”

 _They could_ , Betty and Veronica decided uneasily before following Cheryl to another room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so marks the start of our story. The boys are missing, Cheryl is lonely, Veronica is dragged out to Thornhill, and Betty is there too, scared out of her pretty little socks!


	2. Flight or Fight

**Thornhill- Friday, 10:30 P.M.**

“Eleven hundred channels and you lollipops decide to watch _iCarly_ ,” Cheryl grumbled without looking at them. She was lying on her back on a couch, staring at the ceiling while Betty and Veronica sat on the floor, eating popcorn while dressed in pajamas and thoroughly engrossed in the next episode that was just starting.

“It’s a modern classic,” Veronica said. “Plus, my house gets regular Nick, but not TeenNick.”

“Which plays all the classics,” Betty told her. “Remember _Victorious_?”

“ _Victorious_ left us far too soon,” Veronica nodded. “Gone after only four seasons, poor, sweet, summer child.”

“Did you _not_ watch _iCarly_ as a kid?” Betty pressed, turning her head back to Cheryl.

“I did,” Cheryl said curtly. “But since I’m not ten, I don’t watch it anymore.”

“Seddie or Creddie?” Veronica asked her with a smile.

“What?”

“Sam and Freddie or Carly and Freddie?” Betty clarified. “I was Creddie all the way.”

“I don’t think I really cared,” Cheryl said with a scoff.

“I was neither,” Veronica said. “Sam was clearly a lesbian and I shipped her with Carly.”

“What?” Betty exclaimed. “Where did you get that?”

Veronica shrugged. “Just look at her. And why do you think she’s _always_ at Carly’s house?”

Betty knitted her brows. “Oh, my God, maybe you’re right… Wait, but they’re fighting over a guy in this very episode!”

“Denial,” Veronica said dismissively. “Or some good old-fashioned lesbian competition. Plus, it’s a kid’s show. Nickelodeon just wouldn’t let some quality woman-on-woman content fly.”

“I cannot believe this is what we’re discussing,” Cheryl said from her spot on the couch.

“Look me in the eye and tell me Sam’s straight,” Veronica challenged.

Cheryl turned her head toward Veronica with a harsh look. “Is there something you want to tell us, Lodge?”

“I just—” Veronica started, but stopped when Betty sat up suddenly.

“Do you hear that?” she asked. “Turn off the TV.”

Veronica frowned. “But Spencer’s still trapped in the elev—”

“Turn it off,” Betty demanded.

Veronica turned off the TV and heard it too.

Footsteps, somewhere out in the hall.

“Jay-Jay?” Cheryl called. “Archie?”

No answer.

The three climbed to their feet and snuck over to the closed pair of double doors between them and the footsteps.

Cheryl put one hand on each knob and pulled, revealing only an empty hallway.

“Boys?” Veronica called.

Again, nothing.

The footsteps had stopped, so Cheryl shut the three of them back into the parlor.

With the bright glow of the TV, the cheery colors of the Shay apartment and Ridgeway High gone and Carly and Sam’s cheesy banter silenced, Thornhill was once again a scary place with old things and dark secrets.

The three stood in silence and listened for the footsteps again but heard only their own breathing.

“Is someone out there?” Veronica asked.

“Of course not,” Cheryl said with fake confidence.

Betty’s skin was tingling again; she felt eyes on her. The phrase crafted into Thornhill’s great black gate floated into her mind.

_Radices currere abyssi._

“Then what was that noise?” Betty asked.

“I don’t know, it could’ve been anything.”

“It sounded like a person,” Veronica pressed.

“And you sound like a child,” Cheryl scoffed. “Scared much?”

“Come on, you’ve gotta be at least a little scared, too,” Veronica said with a smirk. “You probably know all the bloody history of this place, all the reasons ghosts would be walking the halls…”

“Veronica,” Betty whispered.

“How many people do you think died here, Cheryl?”

“I don’t know but there’s about to be one more,” Cheryl said with glare.

A low rumble of thunder outside stopped their argument, starting low and getting louder until it was over. All three stood tensely, staring at the window.

“It’s just lightning girls,” Cheryl said, trying to sound nonchalant but Betty and Veronica could hear an edge in her voice.

For a long time, no one said anything.

All around, Betty felt eyes, focused on her. Stalking her.

Trying not to succumb to the fear and anxiety, she turned from Veronica and Cheryl and turned the TV back on.

Sam and Carly were still fighting for the boy.

As the episode closed and the channel started playing commercials, another noise came.

This time, it was a dull _thunk_ from down the hall.

Then another, and another.

The three exchanged some looks and wordlessly agreed to investigate.

They rose and padded down the hall without turning the TV off.

Cheryl lead them toward the noise, and when they reached the room the noise had come from, they stood frozen in front of it.

“Library,” Cheryl mouthed, pointing to the set of closed doors.

“Your house has a library?” Betty mouthed, impressed. She turned to Veronica and mouthed, “Her house has a _library_.”

Veronica nodded, unimpressed; some of her father’s many houses had had libraries, too.

Another _thunk_ from the library turned the girls on edge again. They exchanged more uneasy looks, and finally Cheryl shrugged and slowly opened the door.

Three heads poked out from behind the doors, eyes wide and alert.

When they saw nothing, the girls took a few steps inside and began combing the shelves without splitting up.

Empty. Empty. Empty. Empty.

The lights were dull—distorting art and shelves into stalkers and demons—but not off.

No, Veronica, Betty, and Cheryl were not alone in the library.

They crept forward and stared down another row of shelves.

Across from them stood a figure: a man.

Too small to be Archie or Jason. Too real to be the lights playing tricks on them. He didn’t seem to notice the girls behind him.

But when one arm shot to his side toward the shelves, all three gave a small jump.

The figure’s head whipped to the side.

Betty and Cheryl turned tail and scrambled through the shelves— _flight_ —while Veronica charged toward the figure.

_Fight_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this chapter was a bit shorter than the last and than the others will be, sorry about that, but look forward to longer updates in the future! Also, most of this was the girls rambling about old Nick shows but honestly, I would pay good money to see that for a full forty minutes on an actual episode of Riverdale. Who’s with me?
> 
> Also, if you get a chance or have the time, please-please-please drop a comment with your thoughts!


	3. The Bloodied Book

**Thornhill- Friday, 11:15 P.M.**

Halfway across the library, Betty and Cheryl stopped at an agonized yell.

“Veronica!” Betty shouted at Cheryl, grabbing her wrist.

“I don’t care about Veronica; there’s a man in my house!” Cheryl protested, but allowed herself to be dragged back to the shelves again.

Veronica was on top of the intruder, who was struggling in pain.

“RESISTANCE ONLY MAKES IT WORSE!” Veronica bellowed, grabbing him by the hair.

Betty’s eyes widened as she recognized the intruder’s iconic hat and dark clothing. “Veronica, get up; that’s Jughead!”

Veronica froze and looked down at her friend, whose face was strained from pain and shock.

She stood up and offered him a hand. “What the hell, Juggie?!”

“Why are you in my house, you corpse!?” Cheryl shouted.

“Archie invited me!” Jughead hollered, straightening himself out. “He said I could tag along but I lost him and Jason. They said they were going to come down here but I think they ditched me.” Jughead paused. “I am having a good time, though. Did you know some of these books actually predate the founding of America? They’re probably worth a ton.”

At Jughead’s innocuous presence, the three girls felt very stupid; they were just pajama-clad fools running around a big house at midnight trying to scare themselves silly.

Betty ran forward and hugged her boyfriend, Veronica apologized meekly while Cheryl stood with a hand clutched over her heart, all three red with embarrassment.

“You scared us,” Betty said, her face buried in Jughead’s shoulder.

“Sorry. But you guys kinda scared me, too,” Jughead said with a laugh. “Hey, do you guys have any clue where the guys are? I texted them but they never responded.”

“We have a rather impressive list of where they aren’t,” Cheryl said bitterly, “but we have no clue where they actually are.”

“In the meantime, we were watching some Nickelodeon staples,” Betty smiled, “if you want to join us.”

“Nickelodeon? I’m more of a Disney kinda guy myself but if you insist,” Jughead said, wrapping Betty in his arm. Then, “Does anyone else feel like we’ve stumbled into a _Goosebumps_ book? Six quirky friends spend the night in a haunted mansion, lose two, probably meet a ghost—”

“There will be no ghost,” Cheryl told him.

“You’re right. This is probably the fourth _Night of the Living Dummy_. R.L. Stine couldn’t be bothered to come up with a new plot in this day and age.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes. “You scared, Jughead? I’d think a creepy old place would make you feel right at home,” her face twisted into a faux smile, “or lack thereof.”

“Cut it out, Cheryl,” Betty growled.

“Whatever. There’s still no ghost,” Cheryl repeated.

“Right,” Jughead murmured. “Well in that case, the guys definitely ditched me. I was in here because I was looking for, like, old books that might shed some light on the spirits that _definitely don’t_ live here.” Jughead held up the ancient leather-bound book he’d been reaching for with a pointed glance at Cheryl. Carved into the cover was the same iconic _B_ that the entry gate proudly displayed. “Jason was telling Archie and I all these crazy stories about the house and the family and it was pretty fun but also pretty real. So I go down here to check out some books and Archie and Jason say they’re going to catch up with me soon. And now it seems they’ve mysteriously disappeared…”

“No ghosts! No spirits!” Cheryl said, exasperated. “The scariest thing in this house right now is that ratty old hat of yours, Jughead. Which I would suggest you take and shove—”

“Hey guys?” Veronica cut in. “Where’s Betty?”

Jughead turned back to the dark and empty library. Betty had wandered from his arms and was nowhere in sight.

“Betty?” Jughead called.

“Betty?” Veronica echoed.

Soon, the two were wandering through the massive library searching for Betty.

“She didn’t leave, did she?”

“I didn’t hear the door open or close,” Jughead answered.

“Will you people relax?” Cheryl said, following them reluctantly. “She probably just—”

“Betty!” Veronica cried. Cheryl and Jughead looked to see Betty walking slowly through the stacks, one hand raised and absentmindedly brushing against the books.

“Betty, why didn’t you answer us?” Jughead asked. “Why’d you leave us?”

Betty didn’t answer.

“Betty, look at me,” Veronica called, stepping into the aisle to confront her friend.

Jughead held her back with one hand. “Betty?”

Betty simply continued walking, moved through the aisle and into another, followed by her confused and scared friends.

“Betty, stop fucking around,” Cheryl ordered.

“She’s not,” Jughead said ominously.

“Betty, seriously, cut it out!” Cheryl repeated.

She slowly came to a stop in front of one of the shelves, turned to face it, and began kneeling down to grab a book.

“What is she _doing_?” Cheryl whispered.

Betty extended one hand, played with the book with her fingers, and gently pulled it from the shelf.

“Betty!” Veronica cried.

For the first time, Betty responded, jolted her head to the side and gave a little jump. “You guys scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“ _We_ scared _you_?” Veronica asked disbelievingly. “We’ve been following you for like five minutes!”

“So you’re either really set on freaking us out or you’re a major space case,” Cheryl said.

“Are you okay?” Jughead asked.

Betty’s eyes wandered down to the book she was holding and then back up at her friends, who were offering her a hand to stand back up. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Betty said, taking Veronica’s hand and pulling herself to her feet. “Um, was I just walking through the library?”

“Yeah, you just wandered off and started looking through the shelves,” Veronica said.

“Except you weren’t really _looking_ ,” Jughead pointed out. “You were staring straight ahead the whole time.”

Betty looked down at the book again. It was almost identical to the book Jughead had been looking at earlier; a big leather-bound thing with ancient pages and the Blossom name on the cover. Instead of the fanciful _B_ , however, this book donned a coat of arms for the Blossom family.

“ _A Complete History of the Blossom Family Genealogy and Lineage, 1900-1950_ ,” Jughead read. “Why’d you pick this one?”

Betty shook her head. “I can’t remember. I don’t know. This house… I don’t feel well.” She pushed past Jughead and Veronica. “I want to leave.”

“We can go,” Veronica said comfortingly, but Betty made no move to leave. “Betty?”

Again, she was in some sort of trance. When she finally moved, it was leisurely and eerily calm. She drifted past Veronica, Jughead, and Cheryl and made her way out of the library.

She led her friends back up the stairs and into Cheryl’s room, sat down, and cracked open the book.

“Betty…” Jughead extended one hand and brushed her shoulder, taking Betty out of her trance.

“Juggie, I didn’t… I wasn’t myself… You have to believe me!”

“Of course I believe you, Betty,” he said softly. “This is some creepy shit and we should leave,” Jughead said firmly to Cheryl and Veronica. He took Betty’s hand and pulled her toward the door.

“No,” Cheryl stopped them.

“You said I could leave if I got scared,” Betty whined, “and I’m _terrified_ , Cheryl!”

“Yeah, well, that door has closed. You are not leaving” Cheryl marched toward the bed and picked up the book. “I don’t care if you were just trying to wig us out or if you really did start some supernatural shit but in any case, _you_ opened this can of worms, so _lay in it_.” Cheryl thrust the book toward Betty, who was grimacing at Cheryl’s mixed metaphor.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 12:40 A.M.**

From a distance, the four kids could have passed off as friends looking at a yearbook or scrapbook at a slumber party, laying on their stomachs in pajamas in their friend’s bed. But tragically, they were in the hallowed, harrowing halls of Thornhill and hunched over a creepy book outlining the members of the Blossom family from years past.

“Richard Andromedas Blossom. Maxwell Gordon Blossom. James Bitterly Blossom II,” Jughead read in a mocking voice. 

Veronica propped herself up on one arm and looked at Cheryl. “You do see how all the only people who have pictures or descriptions or names written cool fonts is a man, right? Sexist lineage much?”

“It’s called a _patriarchal family_ , Veronica,” Cheryl shot back. “And what exactly are we supposed to be finding here, Betty?”

Betty shrugged.

“Just evidence that your family’s been sexist since at least 1900,” Veronica said. “But that’s just at first glance.”

“I didn’t even want to look at in the first place,” Betty said. “We should just stop.”

Cheryl and Veronica agreed.

“I don’t know; the guys still haven’t shown up and it’s—what? One A.M.? It’s weird they haven’t come up here at all. Or come looking for me. And Cheryl, I’m assuming it’s weird Jason hasn’t come upstairs to tuck you in and give you a goodnight kiss?” Jughead mused.

Cheryl opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it. It was true; the guys _were_ missing and there _were_ some awfully strange things going on. The girls looked at each other uneasily, then returned to the book.

“You guys agree? Because if we are going to delve into a book as long and creepy as this or a ghost story that goes all night, I at least need snacks,” Jughead said.

“Reasonable,” Cheryl agreed. “I’ll grab chips and sodas.”

She started to leave and then turned and said, “Veronica. Come with me.”

Veronica joined Cheryl at the door and mumbled smugly, “Scared?”

Cheryl didn’t respond except for turning and leading Veronica toward the kitchen, leaving Jughead and Betty alone.

“So, uh, what exactly was happening? When you were walking around all…” Jughead trailed off.

“Possessed?” Betty finished reluctantly. “It wasn’t like that. It was more like a dream. I knew who I was and what I was doing and maybe I could have done something to change it, but I didn’t think to. Does that make sense?”

Jughead nodded.

“I hate this house,” Betty said disdainfully. “It’s always felt like, extra creepy to me.”

“With good reason, I see.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jughead noticed the goosebumps on Betty’s arms and the petrified look on her face. He pulled her toward him and whispered that everything would be okay, that there were no ghosts and that they would find Archie and Jason and that in the morning, Betty could leave and never return to Thornhill.

“Unless Cheryl and Jason throw a sick party. With a DJ and free food,” Betty said jokingly from Jughead’s arms.

“Unless Cheryl and Jason throw a sick party. With a DJ and _lots_ of free food,” Jughead repeated assuringly.

As promised, Cheryl and Veronica returned with a full bag of chips and four cherry colas in slender glass bottles.

And all was well.

The gang sat around the book, drank cola and ate chips, mocking the stuffy greyscale men in the pictures and taking turns reading their bios.

“Hold up, this guy’s name is smudged out,” Veronica said when it was her turn to read.

“Gimme,” Cheryl reached for the book but couldn’t make the name out either. “This would be my great great uncle or something and…” Her eyes danced across the page. “Yeah, I can’t read his name; that’s completely illegible.”

“Weird. The rest of the book’s in perfect condition,” Jughead pointed out. “And before you blame us for it, Cheryl, we barely touched the page.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes.

Betty was holding the book when a candlestick slid off of a nearby shelf. Both grand and elegant, the candlestick should’ve stood stably. Betty gasped and dropped her cola bottle, which was mostly empty, and ended up getting glass all over her arm.

“Ow, ow. Ow, ow, ow,” Betty cried. She grabbed her right arm, which was now covered in glass and blood.

“Are you okay?” Jughead and Veronica chorused as Cheryl took the book from Betty and started picking up the broken glass. “How deep did it cut you?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s not bad. I’m fine,” Betty said, though the pain was clear in her voice.

“There are bandages and stuff in the bathroom,” Cheryl said without missing a beat. “Come on, we’ll clean up your arm and get that glass out.”

So Jughead held Betty and was lead down the hall by Cheryl as Veronica took the glass Cheryl had gathered and dumped it in the trash as she followed them out the door, leaving the book open on the floor.

The image of Cheryl’s great, great uncle, covered in splotches of Betty’s blood, stared vacantly up at the ceiling with glowing green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bona fide supernatural goings on at Thornhill! Some crazy stuff is going down and will continue to go down in future chapters.  
> Leave a review or you’re gay lol!! (JK, that’s a terrible way to try and get reviews; if I were in your shoes, I’d neglect to leave a review just to prove how much of a lesbian I am.)


	4. Scooby Gang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone. I know it’s been a while since I updated, but I’ve been out of town and didn’t have wifi, so I apologize for the long wait! Hopefully this next chapter is worth it!

**Thornhill- Saturday, 1:15 A.M.**

“This stuff stings,” Cheryl said, “but it helps.”

Cheryl stood by the sink, Betty sat on the counter, while Veronica and Jughead watched from behind. Cheryl dabbed the cloth, covered in some sort of rubbing alcohol, on Betty’s arm, which was now clean of most blood.

It stung, but not too badly, and Cheryl made a surprisingly good nurse.

“Wow, maybe we should all get cut,” Jughead smiled. “It’s a kinder, gentler Cheryl Blossom.”

“Just gimme the bandages, reject Hex Girl,” Cheryl said without looking up.

Jughead gave her the bandages.

When Betty’s arm was clean and dry and covered, she stood and the four sauntered out of the bathroom.

“Nothing in the book and still no sign of the guys,” Veronica recapped. “Are you feeling better, Betty? Like, at all strange…?”

“I feel myself again, I think,” Betty said. “But I still feel like something’s watching me. Us.”

“It’s just paranoia,” Cheryl said softly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But we do need to find Archie and Jason. For real,” Jughead said. “Just to make sure…”

“Should we split up?” Veronica asked. “That’s what they always do in the movies.”

“In the movies, someone always gets killed,” Jughead said.

“Or everyone gets killed,” Betty added.

“This isn’t the movies,” Cheryl said. “We’ll cover more ground if we split up.”

“Excellent,” Veronica said. “If we are in a horror movie, it’s more like a _Scooby-Doo_ movie than a real horror movie. Betty and Jughead can look together and I will go with Cheryl.”

“You classify Scooby Doo as a horror movie?”

“Uh, why do I have to go with Veronica?”

“Because Jughead and Betty are dating.”

“Right—” Cheryl turned to face Betty, “Since you’re going with your _boyfriend_ , I feel I should lay out some ground rules.” There was a hint of disdain in the word _boyfriend_ , as if they were in elementary school and having a love interest was something to be mocked. “We’re looking for the guys. That’s all. Don’t let that boy talk you into doing any sort of emo, sadistic sex stuff at my house just because he thinks it’s a fitting environment. That’s gross and you’re gross for entertaining it.”

“We don’t—” Betty began, but Cheryl cut her off.

“Seriously. No fucking in my house. Not after the Halloween party…” she said with a pointed glance at Veronica, who smirked and shrugged playfully.

Betty shook her head, disturbed. “Okay, let’s just go. We’re going to find Archie and Jason no matter what. Any questions?”

 “Yeah, if this is Scooby-Doo, who’s who?” Jughead asked with a smirk. “Can I be Fred?”

“You’re Shaggy, dear,” Betty told him.

“Betty, you’re Velma. And Jughead, _I’m_ Fred. And,” Veronica added suggestively, “Cheryl’s Daphne. _Obviously_. We’re even splitting up accordingly.”

“Right,” Betty said awkwardly. “Um, text if you find anything.” She and Jughead turned and walked quickly down the hall.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 1:30 A.M.**

“So how many rooms does this house actually have?” Veronica asked Cheryl.

Cheryl shrugged. “How many houses did your father used to own? It’s tacky to count these things; you should know that, Veronica.”

“Oh, of course. My apologies,” Veronica said dryly.

The girls couldn’t have been searching for more than an hour, but it felt like much longer; Veronica insisted upon verbalizing her paranoia.

“It’s just that your house is so big,” Veronica blathered. “I’m not scared, I’m really not. I’m just _imaginative_. Gothic is certainly _not_ my style, Cheryl; the shadows and décor in this place certainly lend themselves to the imagination.”

“Uh-huh.”

“When I tackled Jughead, do you know what I thought he was?” Veronica didn’t pause for an answer. “I thought he was, like, a hermit. Who’d been living in the walls, slithering through secret passages and lurking here for like, thirty years. Who finally snapped and walked into the halls and found Archie and Jason and done unspeakable things to them.”

“Well, it was Jughead,” Cheryl said curtly.

“I know. But it’s still a possibility, right? _Things_ could be in your walls, under your feet, over your head. I mean, there are secret passageways in your house, right? Someone could be listening to us right now?”

“There’s—” Cheryl stopped when suddenly everything went dark.

Cheryl and Veronica froze, the halls of Thornhill now too dark to see a foot in front of them.

“Cheryl?”

“Yes, Veronica?”

“Are you still there?”

“Yes. I’m still here.”

“Good. Me, too.” Veronica paused. “Um… So where are the lights?”

“Just a power outage.”

“Is it cold in here?”

“Don’t get freaked out, Veronica. It’s an old house with old wiring,” Cheryl reasoned, pulling out her phone to use as a flashlight. When she clicked it on, she started walking again, searching the halls as though nothing had happened.

“So this kind of thing happens a lot, right?”

“Well… no…”

“I’m going to text Betty and—” Veronica stopped at the sight of her phone. “No service.”

“It… happens.”

“No, Thornhill has great service,” Veronica argued. “It’s a Pokémon gym.”

“I know. Would you believe I keep getting kicked out?”

“For real? What team?”

“Valor.”

“Oh, my God, me too!”

From there, the two made friendly but hesitant conversation, listening to each other and the sound of their feet against the hardwood floors, trying to forget that they were searching a probably-haunted mansion in the dark.

Trying to forget that they hadn’t heard from Archie and Jason since before dinner.

Trying to forget that they had no idea where Betty and Jughead were.

Trying to forget the awful feelings that crept around them, the evil that swam in the dark.

For a while, it worked.

But that was before they were jolted from their banter by the distinct sound of a door slamming from down the hall.

And then another.

And another, each time getting closer and harder.

They froze, stared at each other in fear, but when the light from Cheryl’s phone caught a door down the hall opening and then crashing shut all on its own, the two ran, pursued by the sound of the seemingly eternal row of doors they left behind them.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 2:00 A.M.**

Jughead and Betty were all the way across the house—too far to hear the slamming of the doors—when the power went out.

They walked hand-in-hand, both for comfort and safety in the dark, Jughead using his phone to illuminate the way while Betty begged for phone service.

“I have no idea where we are,” Jughead announced.

Betty bit her lip; she had no idea either. “This house is so big, we could be anywhere.”

“I know,” Jughead said. “Jason and Cheryl must get a workout every day just going down the kitchen for every meal.”

They stopped as his flashlight fell on a downward sloping staircase.

“Basement,” Jughead stated.

“Since we’re not idiots in a horror movie, we’re not going down there,” Betty said defiantly. “There is no doubt in my mind that—”

“ _I’m here for you, Cooper._ ”

Betty whirled, looked around frantically, and then turned to Jughead. “Did you hear that?”

Jughead nodded hesitantly.

“ _You cannot run from who you are or who I am. Come to me, Elizabeth._ ”

Betty’s skin crawled with fear. Jughead held her hand tighter.

_“Elizabeth Cooper…”_

The voice was getting closer.

“We have to go. We have to find the others,” Jughead cried, pulling Betty along with him as he ran back the way they came.

The two didn’t stop running until they found themselves in the kitchen, it’s dark counters and tall chairs dark hiding places and walls for terrible things to hide in.

“Thank God, we found the kitchen,” Jughead sighed. “There is definitely a ghost in those halls.”

“You’re telling me,” Betty said breathlessly. Then, “What are you doing?”

Jughead looked back from the pantry that he was inspecting. “I’m hungry.”

“Are you crazy?” Betty pulled him off of the counter he’d been kneeling on to search for food. “We just faced a ghost. An actual, real live ghost and you, what, want a snack?”

Jughead squinted. “It’s not a real _live_ ghost so much as a real _dead_ ghost, Betty.”

She gave him a soft shove. “Juggie, this is so serious. I mean, we’re in real danger.”

“I’m not going out on an empty stomach,” Jughead said. “Plus, if Archie and Jason or Veronica and Cheryl get hungry, they’ll come here, too.”

“They’re not going to be worried about food.”

“They might,” Jughead said before turning to search the kitchen further.

Betty sighed and stared down at the granite counter she was leaning on. The ghost knew her by name.

The ghost wanted her, specifically.

“Jughead, I’m worried that the—” When Betty turned, Jughead was gone. “Juggie?” Betty turned on the flashlight on her own phone.

Jughead was nowhere to be seen.

“Jughead?”

“Jughead!?”

“ _Juggie?_ ”

The only answer was the echo of Betty’s shrill, panicked voice and the thumping of her heart against her chest.

“Juggie, _please_!”

Silence.

Then, “Radices currere abyssi. _”_

Betty ran. She ran through the halls of Thornhill until she reached the front door, which she threw open without stopping.

She bolted through the grass, through the night air, cool and wet with the beginning of a rainstorm.

At the end of the Blossom’s massive yard, she reached the gate, the only way out of the tall gates that she knew, and pulled.

She yanked the gates as hard as she could, to no avail.

There was no visible lock, no fancy mechanics, nothing Betty could tell was keeping the gates sealed.

No, something was keeping her in; she knew by the feeling creeping up her back and onto her neck, the chill that infected her whole body like a fever.

“Radices currere abyssi, _Elizabeth Cooper._ Roots run deep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I’m Instinct but I honestly think Cheryl and Veronica would both be Valor. (I’m still a very avid Pokémon Go player.) They’re just those kinda people. In this chapter, instead of talking about old Nick shows, our heroes discussed old Cartoon Network shows Scooby Doo and Pokémon. Gotta mix it up if I’m going to keep this virtuous piece of literature interesting.


	5. Night Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright! Big chapter coming up and hopefully we’re back to speedy updates! I got up early to post this today so I certainly hope you enjoy!

**Thornhill- Saturday, 4:00 A.M.**

Cheryl and Veronica had been standing in guarded silence for almost an hour. Outside Cheryl’s room, there had been a great lot of crashing; destruction and anger in the hall outside, the great wooden door the only thing between the monster outside and the girls.

The ruckus slowly drew to a close, the crashes in the hall growing fewer and further between. When at last there was nothing to be heard outside, Veronica and Cheryl stood and began to pace the room.

Like caged animals, they treaded back and forth until Veronica finally spoke.

“Still think there’s no ghost?”

“Okay fine,” Cheryl admitted. “Something is definitely going on, but nothing like this has ever happened before and it sure as hell isn’t going to happen again.”

Veronica stared at the door. “You think this is just going to go away on its own?”

Cheryl shrugged. “We’re safe in here.”

“Why is that?” Veronica asked, glancing at the door which the ruckus from outside never seemed to get past.

“I don’t know if this is really why,” Cheryl began, “but when we were younger, we heard all these stories about Thornhill—about _our house_ —being haunted. And it really got to me, but not Jason. He tried to laugh it off to make me feel better, but it didn’t work. So one day, he took me down to the library and we found this old book that gave us a spell that was supposed to ward off ghosts.”

“What kind of spell?”

“Burning herbs. Giving an incantation and stuff. We did my room and then I told him we had to do his, too, otherwise a revenant would slither out from the walls and slit his throat with his incredible fingernails and drown my brother in his own blood.”

“Ew.”

“Kids have vivid imaginations. Which is why I believed the spell worked and forgot about it all. But it looks like whatever we did all those years ago may have actually kept the spirits bound outside our bedroom walls.”

It suddenly made sense why Cheryl was in such denial about the haunting while Jason cheerily invited Archie and Jughead to look through books and try to scare themselves silly. At the end of the day, Jason and Cheryl had to return to Thornhill; after the other kids messed around trying to scare each other, they could forget and go back to their cozy suburban bedrooms while the Blossom children had to face the house every single night. Jason, she figured, laughed it off, made jokes. Cheryl went into denial, but she was scared.

And who wouldn’t be in that house that night?

 “Would you believe some of my best memories happened in this house? My whole childhood, my whole life… It’s not always this bloodcurdling.”

That was somehow hard to imagine that night, locked in Cheryl’s dark room and rain drizzled outside and the beginnings of a thunderstorm grumbled. Tonight, Thornhill seemed solely a place of horrors.

 “So you really think we’re safe in here?” Veronica asked.

“Yeah, I do.”

Veronica laid down on Cheryl’s bed while Cheryl settled down into a chair on the other side of the room.

They had to think, figure out where the boys could be, and listen for any sign of Jughead and Betty, but soon their minds were on other things.

Veronica’s thoughts turned hazy as she sunk into the soft warmth of Cheryl’s bed.

Cheryl stared at the wall, lost in a reverie about her brother when he was present and their house when it wasn’t a place of horrors. When at last she turned back to Veronica, she found her friend had fallen asleep and was now drooling slightly onto one of her pillows.

“Veronica,” Cheryl started, standing up and creeping toward her. She extended one arm to shake Veronica awake, but quickly stopped.

Her room was safe and warm, her bed even moreso, and she was in good company.

 _Couldn’t hurt to just rest my eyes_ , she thought as she pulled the cover over Veronica’s body and then crawled into the bed on the opposite side.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 4:00 A.M.**

For Betty, wandering blindly around the south wing of Thornhill, rest did not come as easily.

All around her were eyes and ears, something seeing her every move and listening to her every breath.

It was close to morning—the sun would rise soon—but the shadows of Thornhill were only deepening. She got herself hopelessly lost in the dark, all the great gothic hallways looking the same and all the massive sturdy doors holding equally dreadful demons or monsters.

At last, she accepted that she would never find Jughead or Veronica or Archie or Jason or Cheryl in the ebony labyrinth that was the Blossom house. She floated to the end of the hall, where sat an antique armchair draped in soft, old, red velvet.

She sat and buried her face in her trembling hands. She tried to clear her mind, to think straight and figure a way out, a way to find her friends, a way this could even be happening, but she didn’t get very far.

“Elizabeth Cooper.”

By now, Betty knew the voice. The voice of the Thornhill ghost that wanted something to do with her, wanted something from her.

She dragged her head upright and dropped her hands, trying to move slowly and calmly despite her heart pounding so hard she was convinced it was breaking her chest.

Across the hall, despite the dark, Betty could see the tall and lean figure of a young man. He was dressed finely, hair combed, collar and cuffs straight and crisp. Everything about him was dapper and pristine, save for the massive dark stain on his neck which Betty quickly recognized as black blood pouring out of a slit throat. He took slow, calm steps forward, glowing lightly enough to make himself visible to her.

Betty recognized him suddenly: the man whose name had been smudged out in the book. The man whose image she’d bled onto.

“I wanted to talk to you alone, my child,” he spoke clearly, charmingly. He was surprisingly dapper for a demonic creature of the night. 

She wanted to scream, to open her mouth and let out all her horror in hopes someone, anyone, might her. But she could not; she was frozen with fear. At last, Betty sat back, squirmed in her chair, and opened her mouth. “Who are you?”

He was now halfway across the hall.

“I’m just someone who needs a favor, Elizabeth. I need you to do something for me.”

“Get back!”

“Something only you can do.”

He was mere feet from her now.

“I have been waiting so long, Elizabeth Cooper, for one of you to do my bidding.” He stood in front of her, neck cocked sideways, looking down at her with a sly smile. “It’s good. I’m good, I promise.”

Betty pressed herself back against the chair.

“I had to get you alone. I had to get the others away because if they knew, they would try to steal it from you.”

“Steal what?”

“Elizabeth Cooper,” the man reached forward and brushed her face. His hands were cold against her jawline and sent her shaking, “I have hidden a treasure. And that treasure is for you.”

Betty kept her mouth closed, her lips trembling with fear. She pulled her knees to her chest and put her face down, closing her eyes. For a moment, all there is only darkness, the sound of her breathing, and the wind’s rushing outside.

“All you need to do is listen to me. All you need to do is listen to me, okay darling?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you’ve met the ghost of Thornhill! Who is he and what will he do next?


	6. Morning Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t judge me for the beginning of this one with Veronica and Cheryl; I’m a sucker for awful fanfiction tropes, okay??

_He killed me, Elizabeth. He stole from me first. He lied to me and he cheated me and he when he had taken everything I had from right under my nose, he killed me. Do you understand? He looked me in the eye and he slit my throat without remorse. A cold-blooded murder. For money._

_He was my brother, Elizabeth. He wronged me, my own blood. But it’s okay. Because you are going to fix all that._

**Thornhill- Saturday, 8:00 A.M.**

When she woke, Cheryl’s arms and legs were intertwined with Veronica’s. The feeling of someone else’s body, warm and tranquil, was an unfamiliar one to wake up to since her parents had deemed Jason and her too old to sleep together at night.

The events of the previous night were hazy and unbelievable and, with Veronica sleeping next to her and the sunrise flowing through her window, irrelevant.

She wanted to lay in the bed for hours, but she feared how Veronica would react, how the others would respond if they were still here. She wondered if Betty and Jughead and Archie were still in the house, she was hungry, and had to use the bathroom. So, she slowly untangled herself from Veronica, dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom.

When she emerged, dressed and slightly more awake, she started to leave the room, then stopped and turned to smile slightly at the vision of Veronica under her covers.

One glance was all she could spare, though, because she had to make sure that Jason was safe in his room— and maybe Archie and Jughead, too— to confirm that her memories of last night were exaggerated or dreams or purely imagined.

She should figure out where Betty was, too, she figured as she made her way down the hall.

She knocked twice on Jason’s door, running one hand through her just-brushed hair, and when nobody responded, she took the knob in her fist, twisted, and cracked the door open.

“Jay-Jay?”

Nobody in the room.

Her heart sank, realizing that she had gone through this all last night before the horrors started.

She dug in her pocket for her phone and turned it on to reveal that the phone service was still out.

She flipped the light switch in Jason’s bedroom.

No light.

The power was still out.

Cheryl cupped one hand around her mouth, scared as hell again. Whatever nightmare had taken place last night was still happening.

At least Veronica is still safe, Cheryl thought as she took the stairs down into the kitchen. No ghost can get into her bedroom.

 _No ghost, no ghost, no ghost_ , Cheryl kept repeating those words in her head as she opened the pantry to make herself some sort of breakfast.

 _No ghost, no ghost, no ghost, no ghost_ , never mind the violent banging coming from the freezer.

As the banging intensified, Cheryl started to whisper the words. “No ghost, no ghost, no—”

“Cheryl?”

At the sound of her name, Cheryl could deny the noises from the freezer no longer. She set down her cereal bowl and traded it out for a carving knife without turning her back to the freezer.

Sliding one foot in front of the other, holding her breath and trying not to make a sound, Cheryl approached the broad door of the walk-in freezer. She extended one hand to open the freezer, keeping the other holding the knife straight up.

The door was locked, so Cheryl slowly slid the lock bar out of the lock before turning the freezer knob.

She thrust the door open and foisted the knife in front of her with both hands.

In the dark freezer, the figure standing in front of her jumped and then spoke.

“ _Christ_ , Cheryl it’s just me again.”

“Jughead, _stop creeping around_! God! What are you doing in my freezer, Danny DeVito?”

“Danny DeVito?”

“I meant to say Donnie Darko. I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that.”

Jughead laughed.

“Just tell me why you’re in here, Jughead.”

Jughead raised the carton of ice cream he was holding and brought it to his lips and drank. “I wanted a snack. I went in the freezer to look and got locked in. And now that the power’s out, all your ice cream is melting so I’m getting rid of it for you. Really I’m helping you out.”

“Whatever,” Cheryl said exasperatedly as Jughead stepped out of the freezer and lowered the arm wielding the knife. “Where did you last see Betty?”

“Around two last night. Right before I got locked in there.” Jughead turned and examined the lock, which didn’t look as though it could easily be triggered accidentally or by itself. “You don’t think she locked me in, do you?”

“Probably not but you never know,” Cheryl said, playing with her lower lip between her teeth.

“This place does have some kind of sick, twisted hold on her. But we can’t rule out the supernatural, can we?”

“No,” Cheryl frowned. “Alright, well, Veronica’s upstairs. Let’s get her and search for Betty and the boys.”

“Archie and Jason still haven’t turned up yet? And you left Veronica alone?”

“My room is safe. Safe enough for us to get some shuteye.”

“If she’s not there when we get back—”

“She will be. I promise.”

In a refreshing turn of non-awful events, Veronica was in Cheryl’s room when they returned. She was just getting out of the bathroom, now dressed and made up, when Cheryl and Jughead walked in.

“Cheryl, there you are!” Veronica rushed up to her tentative friend hugged her. “I was worried; where the hell were you?”

“You didn’t even tell her where you were going?” Jughead shot.

“She was asleep,” Cheryl shrugged. “I woke up early and I didn’t want to wake her.”

“While Archie and Jason _and_ Betty were missing you two were sleeping together?”

“Not sleeping _together_ ,” Cheryl said quickly.

“We were in the same bed,” Veronica said slyly before Cheryl shot her a look. “But not like that.”

“I’m sure it was all very heterosexual,” Jughead grumbled. “But right now we have—”

“Wait,” Veronica said suddenly, Jughead’s earlier words sinking in, “Betty’s missing, too? Where’s Betty?”

“Dark Shaggy Rogers here locked himself in the freezer and got separated from Betty,” Cheryl told her, motioning to Jughead.

“What?” Veronica closed her eyes, overwhelmed. “We never should have let Jughead and Betty go off on their own. We shouldn’t have fallen asleep, we shouldn’t have even come here.”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Jughead said, trying to keep his head. “We have two options, I think. We can either stay here and look for Betty and the guys ourselves or we can go and get help. I favor the latter.”

“Me too,” Veronica put in.

“Fine,” Cheryl agreed, moving toward the door and leading them out of the house.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 8:45 A.M.**

It didn’t take long for Jughead, Cheryl, and Veronica to realize what Betty had found out the night before.

That Thornhill’s ghost had used some sinister supernatural strength to seal shut the great gates of the Gothic mansion.

That that mean some supernatural power was actually at work.

That it was here, with them.

And that they could not escape.

 “All the other exits are gated off, too,” Cheryl said.

“And no doubt locked like these ones,” Veronica added.

“Like the freezer,” Jughead remembered. “We’re trapped.”

“No.” Veronica shook her head. “No. We’re finding Betty and Archie and Jason and then we’re blowing this popsicle stand, I don’t care if we have to tear down the gate with our bare hands. We’re getting out of here, come on.”

Veronica and Jughead pushed forward, up the hill that lead to the cursed mansion. They were halfway up the steps when they realized Cheryl wasn’t with them, but instead sitting in the grass, back against the wrought iron gate, head tilted up and closed eyes trained at the sky.

“Cheryl. Come on,” Veronica urged.

“Can I just sit out here for a sec?” Cheryl said, trying to sound calm and failing. “I don’t—I don’t want to go back into the house yet.”

“Every second we wait, our friends are—” Veronica started.

“Go. I’ll be fine. I just want to rest for a minute.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jughead shot. “Every time we split up, we just get more and more lost.”

“Relax, Jughead,” Cheryl said, still not moving her head or opening her eyes. “I live here. I’ve lived here for seventeen years; I’ll be fine.”

“At least go back to your room, where it’s safe,” Veronica pleaded.

“I told you I don’t want to go back in there.”

Neither Jughead nor Veronica was really in the mood for arguing, and they could tell that Cheryl would not be budged, so they sighed and left Cheryl on the edge of the estate.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 11:30 A.M.**

Seventeen years.

Seventeen years is an awful lot of time to spend in such a hellish place.

Cheryl shuddered to think of her father, who had lived at Thornhill for his whole long life. It hurt more to think of her future, the fact that she would likely be doomed to stay in the place for the rest of her own life, the black walls closing in more and more as the years went by.

She couldn’t stand to go into the house now. Not with Jason missing and the reality of a haunting looming in the shadows.

No, she was much more content—maybe content isn’t the right word; much _less miserable_ would be more fitting—in the rain. Subject to the drops, hot from the summer air, that fell slowly but heavily, like tears rather than the suffocating shelter of the house.

Her eyes wandered to the edge of the estate, where beyond the grass and the dirt hung the graveyard, stone slabs looming in the fog, doing nothing but gathering moss for years on end.

The graveyard, Cheryl remembered suddenly, was older than the rest of the house.

What kind of family builds a home for the dead before a home for the living?

Cheryl thought of what Veronica had said after they found Jughead in the library, that she had thought he’d been a hermit living the walls of Thornhill. She thought it was a definite possibility. Thornhill didn’t belong to her. It belonged to her ghoulish parents, to the shadows, to the graveyard.

Thornhill was a place of unequivocal darkness.

She sat and waited for the building in front of her to feel like home again and for the terrible pit in her stomach to dissolve. Cheryl stared at the sky until the movement of the clouds became too dizzying, then she closed her eyes tight.

She was still wallowing in her misery, bitterly chewing on the fact that she would have to return to the house at the end of every day, like a prison cell, with the knowledge of the events of last night and this morning, when she heard footsteps.

 _The ghost, probably_ , she thought without opening her eyes. _Some awful thing come to take me away from this awful house. Do it then._

She kept her eyes shut as the footfalls got closer, focusing only on the feeling of the rain on her face.

“Cheryl!”

Cheryl sat up straight and opened her eyes to face Betty, who was, not unlike Cheryl, soaking wet and in rough shape.

“Betty.” Cheryl stood up. “You look kind of terrible.”

It was true. Betty hadn’t slept all night, the ghost she’d encountered before refusing to leave her alone. Betty’s eyes were red with exhaustion, her face pale and sweaty, and she was still in her pajamas, which were now wet and muddy.

“Thanks, Cheryl,” Betty said dryly.

“I just mean you look like you had a long night.”

“I did. I definitely did.” Betty hesitated, openmouthed. “And… I think we need to talk.”


	7. Priorities

**Thornhill- 11:45 A.M.**

And so, Betty and Cheryl took a walk. They trod about Thornhill’s grounds, through the grass and the dirt and the many walkways weaving through the gloomy yard, Betty struggling to get out the words.

“Cheryl, I saw the ghost. It— _he—_ spoke to me. He told me a lot. He told me about me. And he told me about you.”

Cheryl stayed quiet for once, eyes at the ground, but hopefully listening to Betty’s words.

“He was the guy whose name was smudged out in that book I picked out from the shelf last night. He had his throat slit, Cheryl. By someone who wanted his place in the family business. Someone killed him out of greed. And he said that that someone was his own—”

“Brother, I know,” Cheryl interjected. “Brother killed brother, I’ve heard that story.”

“Do you know the whole story? Because there’s more.”

Cheryl cocked her head and raised an eyebrow, urging Betty to go on.

“The ghost, he had children.”

The two were in the graveyard now, skeletons and coffins under their every step.

“And those children cut themselves off from the Blossoms.”

Across from them was a row of graves, the oldest on the property, all grand and large but crumbling and falling and covered in moss.

“And those children… they became _Coopers_.”

Cheryl stared, shocked.

“Cheryl, the ghost is my great grandfather. And your great uncle. And that kinda makes us… related.”

“That I didn’t know.”

The continued through the graveyard in awkward silence, unsure of how to proceed; their friendship had been tentative, if not nonexistent, so they were clueless as to how to treat each other as family.

Cheryl eventually attempted a subject change. “So that’s all the ghost wanted? To let you know that you’re a…”

“A Blossom?” Betty finished. “Not exactly. He also wants something. From me.”

Cheryl waited for Betty to go on, but she said nothing.

“What? Did he—”

“ _Betty_!” The sound of Jughead’s relieved voice rang through the yard. Cheryl and Betty turned to their left, where Veronica and Jughead were shoving open a side door to meet the girls outside.

“Betty, you’re okay!” Veronica gushed, hugging her and Cheryl both.

“Where have you been?” Jughead asked, pulling Betty in for a hug as well.

“You guys are going to think I’m crazy,” Betty prefaced, “but I saw the ghost. In the flesh—”

“Or lack thereof,” Jughead smirked.

“And I talked to him,” Betty continued. “Or, rather, he talked to me.”

Veronica cocked her head, confused, while Jughead knitted his brows in concern.

“He did. He told me to do something for him.”

“Well don’t do it,” Jughead said immediately. “Ghosts never want anything but revenge.”

“This ghost actually didn’t want revenge,” Betty said slowly. “He wanted to give me something.”

“Like the sweet release of death?” Jughead offered.

“Like…” Betty sighed. “Like a hidden treasure.”

“A hidden treasure?” Veronica asked, voice tipped with excitement. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” Jughead asked. “I mean like, why _you_ , specifically?”

Cheryl and Betty exchanged an uneasy look. To be honest, Betty wasn’t sure if she wanted her friends to know the truth about her bloodline. That she was a Blossom.

 _Blossom_.

The name carried weight in Riverdale. Weight and fear. The Blossoms were mean and cruel and since Cheryl wasn’t saying anything either, Betty kept her mouth shut and gave a shrug.

“This is all very weird,” Jughead shook his head. “If the ghost just wants to lead you to a treasure, where are Archie and Jason? And why did it lock me in the freezer?”

“And why was it so… _chaotic_?” Veronica asked, referring to the slamming of the doors and the commotion that had followed. “It seems violent. Angry.”

“ _He_ ,” Betty corrected. “I actually saw him. He was that guy from the book. The one whose name was smudged out.”

“So you were really... possessed?” Veronica’s lips struggled around the word _possessed_ , it finally coming out in a whisper.

“I don’t know, but this ghost wants to lead me to something and as long as we’re trapped on the property, I don’t know if I have much of a choice but to follow.”

“Follow cautiously,” Jughead ordered. “And with good company.”

“We’re not leaving your side,” Veronica promised.

Betty smiled. “Good. Now, the ghost said to start in the book where he first led me, but I couldn’t find my way back to your room,” Betty said to Cheryl. “Take me there?”

“Of course.”

It didn’t take long after reopening the book to find what the ghost was referring to; Veronica picked the book up off of the parlor floor where they’d left it and paged to the portrait of the man Betty had seen in the hall.

His name was still smeared out, but his eyes had ceased their unnatural glow.

“Here,” Jughead pointed and then read. “‘Spent most of his time in his study with his photographs.’”

“Photographs?” Veronica asked, nose scrunched.

“Study?” Betty turned to Cheryl. “Where’s his study?”

“There are a couple of studies,” Cheryl said. “I don’t know which one was his.”

“We’ll search them both,” Betty said, resolve on her face.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 1:00 P.M.**

The four stood in the center of the dark study in the east hall of Thornhill among overturned chairs and opened books and scattered papers.

Despite how frightening it was, Thornhill was an interesting place. They had uncovered ancient manuscripts, looked at vast, expensive paintings, played with numerous antiques, and poured out old syrup jugs filled with coins and keys and buttons.

It was almost fun.

“We didn’t find anything,” Veronica announced.

“No shit, Lodge,” Cheryl shot.

It was true. All the gang had done was made a mess of not one but two of Thornhill’s rooms.

“We should just clean it all up,” Betty said dejectedly, “there’s nothing here.”

**Thornhill- Saturday, 1:30 P.M.**

Mess cleaned, nothing found, no ghost in sight, the gang had decided to retry the gates, to no avail.

“It’s nice that Cheryl’s ancestor is depriving us of the outside world to keep us focused on finding this treasure,” Jughead huffed, checking his phone for service again. When again he could not reach anyone, he put his head in his hands and sighed.

“My mom knows where I am. When we don’t come back, she’ll come here and save us,” Veronica promised.

“And she’ll no doubt bring the Coopers and their torches and pitchforks with her,” Cheryl said dryly.

“Actually, no, since I lied and told my mom I was at Veronica’s.”

The feud between the Coopers and the Blossoms suddenly made more since, given the ghost Betty had seen.

“I’m sorry; what’s the story with the bad blood between your families again?” Veronica asked.

Betty and Cheryl hesitated.

“No idea,” Betty lied.

“Well, no matter,” Veronica said. “My mom will still come. And maybe Jughead’s dad.”

“I wouldn’t count on my dad coming,” Jughead said somberly, eyes on the ground and one hand in Betty’s.

“Right,” Cheryl said. “Didn’t Archie just invite you last night so you’d have a place to crash? A bed to sleep in and a roof above you?”

“What the hell, Cheryl? Can you take a break from being a total bitch for, like, three seconds?” Betty growled. “This is serious.”

“No, what’s serious is that I haven’t eaten anything since that ice cream last night,” Jughead said. “We need lunch. And breakfast. And a snack of sorts. Christ, the lunch hour’s almost _over_!”

“I’m hungry, too,” Betty admitted.

“We could be at Pop’s right now,” Jughead mumbled bitterly, “eating milkshakes and fries and burgers. I could be eating a burger right now,” he said with a dramatic, damning point at the sky. “A burger the size of my head!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, we’re getting kind of close to the end now! Leave a comment! Let me know what you like, what you dislike, what you hope is going to happen, what you had for breakfast… Just talk to me!


	8. Roots Run Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been quite a while since the last update; I’ve been pretty busy lately. Hope you enjoy and hope the last few chapters go up quicker than this one!

**Thornhill- Saturday, 2:15 P.M.**

Jughead, now in a much better mood after having eaten, took Betty’s hand as the gang started to return upstairs.

Veronica, too, offered a hand to Cheryl with a smile, who gave it a disdainful glance and then walked up three feet ahead of her.

Halfway down the hall, Betty came to a halt.

“Hold up,” she said. “Déjà vu…”

Betty’s hand absently rose to the wall, where it crept up the wallpaper, grabbed the ebony wall lamp, and gave it a yank.

“Careful!” Cheryl shouted, but the wall lamp had been built to bend, to be pulled like a lever.

With the pulling of the lamp came the sound of grinding gears and then the sound of a spring being released. When the gang turned, a panel on the wall had come loose, revealing a secret passageway.

“Your house has secret passageways,” Veronica gawked.

“Someone alert TV Tropes,” Jughead said.

“I knew of a few,” Cheryl said, opening the panel wider. “Never seen this one before, though.”

Betty shook her head, dazed from whatever spell she’d been put under once again.

The four crept behind the wall panel, which had been hiding a secret study.

In the dark, they could make out a massive wooden desk strewn with old photo prints. The came closer to the desk, trying to make out the photographs’ subjects in the shadows.

Betty whipped out her cell phone and cast light on the photos. Most were images of Thornhill or the land surrounding it, but upon closer examination, the gang realized that in each picture was a man.

“His killer,” Betty mumbled. “His brother.” 

“Wait, this guy was killed by his brother?” Veronica asked.

“Understandably so,” Jughead said. “I’d kill my stalker, too.”

Betty then turned the light to the opposite wall, where hung a corkboard below a message, angrily carved into the wall and underlined several times over.

_WHERE DID YOU HIDE MY DAMN TREASURE, BASTARD_

Jughead reached forward and brushed the jagged, crudely crafted letters on the wall. “The ghost doesn’t even know where the treasure is. _Great_.”

“And he _really_ wants us—Betty, I guess—to find it,” Veronica said, eyebrows drawn.

“Look at this,” Cheryl brought their attention to the corkboard, where the ghost had hung photos of several locations and torn others off when he had been alive. “Most of these are on the property. Maybe the treasure’s there.”

“Look at _this_ ,” Veronica said, nodding her head to an exquisite jewelry box hidden underneath the desk behind them, jewel-studded and intricate, that had probably been an antique even when it was first brought to the secret study.

She reached forward and gently opened the lid, revealing a small metal key.

“Unlocks the treasure chest maybe?” Betty suggested.

“One way to find out,” Jughead said, tearing the photographs from off the walls.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 5:00 P.M.**

“This is the last spot on the property,” Cheryl said grimly.

In all the other locations, they’d struck out.

Betty, Jughead, Cheryl, and Veronica had torn apart each of the locations in the pictures; dug into dirt, lifted paintings off of the walls, and had done everything they could to uncover the treasure, save for prying off the floorboards.

“Fingers crossed,” Jughead said as he dug one of the Blossom’s shovels into the earth below one of the graveyard’s biggest headstones.

“Are we robbing a grave?” Betty asked tentatively.

“Hopefully,” Cheryl said.

Alas, they did not end up robbing the grave, only defacing it.

“That’s it,” Veronica called. “That’s the last place it could be! Let’s try the gates one more time. Maybe they’re open now that we have to leave to find the treasure.”

The gang crossed the property in the rain, praying for the gates to finally be unlocked again.

They were not.

“Hey, Uncle Ghost,” Cheryl called. “Let us out; there’s nowhere else on the property it could be!”

“It would appear there isn’t,” came the voice of the ghost.

His figure emerged from the grey of the rainfall.

Perhaps this whole time, Jughead, Veronica, and Cheryl had believed, in some small crevice of their minds, that Betty was wrong and that there was no ghost at Thornhill.

But now, the tall figure standing in front of them, throat slit and eyes sinister, could not be denied.

So they stood and listened, mouths open and eyes as big as golf balls like dumbstruck cartoon characters, as the ghost explained himself.

“Children, I do regret making you trudge all through the property, tearing it apart, only to find nothing. I would have saved you the trouble if I could, but I never figured out where the treasure was, myself.

“You see, I followed my brother for months searching for what he stole from me. But I could not find the time to fully examine all the sites I suspected in the time before my death while also remaining undetected by my _dear_ brother. He killed me before I could recover my riches.”

“The only other places you think he could have hidden the treasure are off the property,” Betty reminded him. “So you should let us out.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t probably have kept us trapped in the first place,” Jughead said wryly. “Kinda makes it hard to trust you.”

The ghost ignored him. “Of course. But there is one last thing before I let you go.” He turned to Cheryl. “Cheryl Blossom, dear, where is your brother?”

If the gang wasn’t frozen before, they certainly were now.

“You mean…” Cheryl started, “You mean you don’t know? You didn’t do anything with them disappearing?”

The ghost’s face hardened. “I only have eyes on you four. You’re the ones that summoned me here. Don’t tell me you don’t know where they are.”

“We don’t,” Veronica said.

The ghost frowned and cocked his head. Finally, he spoke. “Very well. I wanted the boy, the brother. But you will have to do, Cheryl Blossom.”

“Do for what?” Veronica asked, fear growing in her gut.

“ _Radices currere abyssi,_ children,” the ghost smirked. “Roots run deep. Sins are not so easily forgiven. Wrongs must be righted. Retribution, darlings. An eye for an eye. There must be blood.”

“I’d like to point out that Jughead and Betty and I have nothing to do with whatever happened in the Blossom family, like, decades ago,” Veronica said, voice shaking.

The ghost let out a laugh. “Your friend Elizabeth has everything to do with it. It was her blood that brought me here. She is my great granddaughter. The responsibility of avenging my death, of killing one of my dear brother’s descendants as he killed me… that falls squarely on her shoulders.”

He stepped toward Cheryl, who jumped backwards, but then he turned toward Betty.

“You know what to do, Elizabeth Cooper. Bring judgment and justice upon this twisted family and claim your rightful prize. Avenge me and I shall let you all go free. Free to retrieve your treasure, Elizabeth.”

As everyone turned to look at Betty, a knife materialized in her fisted hand, ready to be used.

Betty stared down at the knife, then looked up and scowled at the ghost. “I’m not a killer, you freak.”

“You think you have a choice?” the ghost growled, voice rising and thunder rumbled in the distance. “This is in your blood, in _our_ blood, Elizabeth. Her family wronged ours. That’s why we had to cut ourselves off. This is your chance to restore order to our sick and twisted bloodline.”

“I’m not doing it,” Betty spat.

The ghost sighed. “Very well, grandchild. It doesn’t matter, really. She will die by your hand. By _our_ hand.”

Betty stumbled backwards as the ghost ran straight into her, disappearing into her body. Again, everyone could tell, Betty was in some sort of supernatural trance.


	9. The Fate of Regina George

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I named this whole chapter, quite possibly the very climax of our story, after a stupid Mean Girls reference. I sure hope you like it.

**Thornhill- Saturday, 5:30 P.M.**

Her eyes turned to Cheryl, hand tightened around the knife.

“Betty,” Cheryl whispered evenly.

Betty took a step forward, knife raised.

She lunged, thrust her arm forward, sending the knife toward Cheryl’s neck.

Cheryl stumbled backwards into Veronica’s arms.

Veronica pulled herself in front of Cheryl, between her and Betty. “I won’t let you do this,” she called. “You’re in there, B, fight this demon!”

“Stand aside, child,” the ghost’s voice issued from Betty’s voice. “This doesn’t have to concern you.”

Veronica didn’t stand down.

“Last warning,” the ghost continued. “Step back, you fool.”

“Jughead, grab Betty,” Veronica ordered. She looked from side to side. “Jughead?”

He was nowhere to be found.

Betty’s mouth curved into an awful smile. “Poor child. Your friend left you. He before he even knew my plan. He left you, children. The coward.”

Betty stepped forward and swung the knife at Veronica, who was pulled backwards by Cheryl.

For a couple of seconds, made eternities by adrenaline, it was a fine dance: Betty swinging and slashing and stabbing as Cheryl and Veronica desperately dodged.

The ghost had them backed up against a garden statue, lunged. The knife, swung haphazardly through the air, just barely nicked Cheryl’s throat when it hit out of nowhere, a blood-red streak that struck Betty and came to rapid halt.

Betty’s body went flying onto the hood of a car with a sickening _thud_.

“ _And that’s how Regina George died!_ ” Jughead called triumphantly as he pulled Cheryl and Veronica into the Cheryl’s convertible.

“Juggy!” Veronica said with a relieved sigh.

The ghost let out an enraged shout, and Betty’s body rolled over across the hood to face the gang through the windshield.

“Uh, hang on, girls,” Jughead said, face twisted in concern. He kicked the gearshift into drive and floored the car.

“Be careful with my car,” Cheryl demanded, stumbling in the backseat with Veronica as the car made hard turns; blood streaming from her throat, her friend possessed, and her life in danger, her first concern was the preserving the condition of her car.

“She’s not coming off the hood,” Jughead observed worriedly.

Somehow, the ghost had a wicked grip on the slick chrome, managing to stay on the hood even as she was jerked about by the turning of the car.

“Floor it and hit the gates,” Veronica blurted out.

“Jughead, _do not_ floor it and hit the gates,” Cheryl begged.

“I’m going to floor it and hit the gates,” Jughead announced as the ghost spewed threats at all three of them.

There was a brief clash of metal on metal, the sound echoing in the kids’ ears as they tore out of Thornhill.

“It worked?” Veronica asked, throwing her head back and staring at the gates Jughead had busted open. “It worked! I didn’t think it would work!”

Jughead was making no move to slow down when Betty’s hands suddenly went limp and her body slid off the side of the car.

“ _Betty_!” everyone yelled.

Jughead slammed on the brakes as to make sure not to hit his girlfriend again, sending he and the girls lurching toward the front of the car.

Jughead jumped out of the car without opening the door, Veronica and Cheryl scrambled over each other to exit the vehicle and check on Betty.

As Jughead pulled her into a sitting position, Betty struggled to regain her mind.

“Juggie, what ha—what happened?” Betty slurred. “Did I attack Cheryl? I think I attacked Cheryl.”

“You attacked Cheryl,” Cheryl confirmed, one hand trying to stop the aggressive bleeding from her throat.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it wasn’t you,” Jughead whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can stand,” Betty said as Jughead and Veronica helped her to her feet. “God, Jug, did you hit me with a car?”

“ _My_ car,” Cheryl grumbled.

“I’m fine, I think,” Betty said. “But, God, I’m tired. I haven’t slept since we got to this stupid place.”

“Cheryl, oh my God,” Veronica said, indicating to the wound in her throat.

Everyone stared, the injury made more intimidating by the generous flow of blood issuing from it.

“Oh, God,” Jughead whispered. “Cheryl, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Goth Dad,” Cheryl said. “It really looks worse than it feels.”

“Would you stop calling him names? He just saved your life,” Betty spat.

“Actually, I think Goth Dad works for me,” Jughead said.

Betty smiled warily, Veronica let out a brief but genuine laugh, and Cheryl grinned.

At that moment, all of their phones went off in a chorus of high-pitched dings and low vibrations.

“Woah, twenty-three text messages,” Veronica read.

“Thirty-two,” Betty smiled.

“Six,” Jughead frowned.

“Fifty-nine,” Cheryl said proudly. Then, softly, “Almost all from Jason or Archie.”

“Mine are from Archie, too,” Jughead said.

“They got themselves locked in the guest house,” Cheryl said. “Idiots. It does that sometimes.”

“We better go rescue them,” Veronica said.

“I don’t know about that,” said Jughead. “What if when we go back onto the property, that… that _thing_ comes back? And takes Betty again? And tries to kill Cheryl? Or Jason, after we save him?”

“Jughead’s right,” Cheryl agreed. “Off the property, the ghost doesn’t seem to have any power.”

“We should find the treasure first,” Veronica decided. “It might be the first step to sending that ghoul to rest.”

“Just as long as I’m home by seven,” Betty said, looking up from texting her mother.

“Same, probably,” Veronica said, looking down to text hers.

“Let’s go then,” Jughead said. “There were a couple pictures on the edge of Sweetwater River.

**Sweetwater River- Saturday, 6:00 P.M.**

“So,” Veronica started as the four trekked down through the woods, “are we going to talk about the fact that apparently you and Cheryl are related?”

“I don’t know,” Betty said. “We’ve kind of had bigger fish.”

“Did you know?” Jughead asked.

“Yeah,” Betty admitted. “The damn ghost told me and I told Cheryl.”

“And you two didn’t tell us?” Veronica pressed. “Why?”

Betty was silent.

“Because we don’t really like each other,” Cheryl supplied.

Betty shrugged. “I guess.”

“Thanksgivings are going to be fun for you two,” Jughead smiled sardonically. “And Christmases. You guys should send out a holiday card, both of you all dressed in ugly Christmas sweaters. With a cat or something. Cute and familial; keep it simple.”

“Shut up, Jug,” Betty said. Then, “Wait, is this the place from the picture?”

“Sure is,” Veronica answered.

“Here we go,” Jughead said, holding the shovel he’d taken from the Blossoms upright. He shoved it downward, the spade taking a loud bite out of the cold, wet ground.

Suddenly, the sound of metal on dirt changed to the clang of metal on metal: They’d found something.

“Here it is!” Jughead grinned.

Betty, Cheryl, and Veronica knelt down and pulled the dirt from their find, then pulled up a grey metal chest, about a food wide and six inches long.

Betty tried to pry it open. “Locked.”

For a moment, she was discouraged, but that was in the second before Cheryl produced the key they’d taken from the box in the ghost’s secret study.

Betty inserted the key, turned, and the chest cracked open with a click.

She pulled the top of the chest open, revealing the stuff of fairy tales and old legends: gold coins and sparkling gems.

“Woah,” Betty whispered.

“Pretty jewels,” Veronica said, mesmerized.

“Great, Betty gets a treasure and I get a slit throat, a wrecked car, and a ravaged, messy house,” Cheryl huffed.

“Uh, guys…” Jughead said softly, his eyes down in the hole where the chest had been. “That’s not all.”

All eyes turned back to the hole, where lay a filthy white scattering of human bones.

“The ghost of Thornhill, I presume,” Jughead said to them gravely.


	10. A Burger the Size of My Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we open the final chapter (discounting the epilogue), I have to recognize fanfiction.net user aussiebornwriter who brought it to my attention that those bones probably definitely would have decomposed over the years, which I did not think of, and now must play the short & sweet “yeah they’re just haunted.” card.

**Sweetwater River- Saturday, 6:30 P.M.**

“We have to lay these to rest properly,” Betty said immediately.

“Think it’ll silence the ghost?” Veronica asked.

“It has to,” Cheryl said.

“Friends, family,” Jughead began, “random children who have been terrorized, we gather here today to mourn the loss of Ghosty McMadman, whose radiant personality and spiteful, murderous tendencies are just as prominent in his death as in his life.”

“Jughead,” Betty scolded.

“Though he was not in our lives long, he also did not leave a lasting impact,” Jughead continued dramatically. “In a matter of days, we will be in a raging state of denial, trying to reclaim a mindset where we believe we have some minimal, basic understanding of this world—”

“Jughead,” Betty repeated.

“Fine, I’m done.” Jughead checked his watch. “You and Veronica have to head home soon. Cheryl and I can call the police and anonymously report these.”

The girls nodded.

“I’m going to sleep for a week when I get home,” Betty moaned.

“Same,” said Veronica.

“I’ll drop you guys off,” Cheryl offered.

The gang stood, sparing a few hesitant glances at the scuttled bones, black with wet dirt and darkness, before turning and making their way through the woods of Sweetwater River.

**Pop’s Chock’Lit Shoppe- Saturday, 7:00 P.M.**

Betty and Veronica were both home by seven, as promised, though they had much to answer for. Why they were out so long, why they hadn’t texted, why Betty had allowed herself to be seen in the same car as a _Blossom_.

In a booth at Pop’s, seated across from a cleaned-up Cheryl, Jughead had made the anonymous call, and now he was smiling over his burger at last, a burger the size of his head.

By nine, he was nodding off in the booth, plate cleaned, and the bones were being examined.

“Think Thornhill is safe now?” Jughead asked finally, straightening up from his shuteye.

“I don’t know,” Cheryl admitted. “But we shouldn’t leave the guys hanging any longer.” She scooted forward, dropped some money on the table, and stood. “The ghost said he had eyes on us, so we’ll have to be ready…”

“Ready to run like hell if he tries to take you or your brother,” Jughead finished.

“Right.”

“Then here we go.”

**Thornhill- Saturday, 9:30 P.M.**

As the guest house came unlocked with a click, Jughead watched Cheryl’s back, no ghost in sight.

“Guys?” Cheryl called, opening the door.

“Thank God!” Jason called, leaping out the door, followed closely by Archie.

“Thank you, Cheryl and Jason!” Archie cried, hugging Jughead as Jason hugged his sister.

“What the hell were you two doing in the guest house anyway?” Jughead laughed. “I thought you were going to meet me in the library.”

“We were,” Archie said honestly. “We just…” He trailed off.

“I just wanted to show Archie something in there,” Jason said slowly, obviously lying.

Jughead raised an eyebrow as Cheryl tilted her head.

“What could possibly be in the guest house?” Cheryl asked. “And was it worth getting locked in for over twenty-four hours?”

Archie and Jason laughed uneasily.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Archie shrugged.

“Yeah, there was plenty of food and running water,” Jason said. “And,” he added slyly, “I was in great company.”

Archie’s ears burned red, which Jughead and Cheryl tried to ignore, just as they tried to ignore his wincing when he sat down in the car before going home.

As Jason drove Archie off the property, not without asking Cheryl why the gates were crooked, Jughead asked if she would be okay alone on the property.

“I think so,” Cheryl said. “There’s nothing here and I know my room is safe.”

“Okay, let me know if that changes,” Jughead said.

“Are you going to be okay?” Cheryl asked.

“Better than okay,” Jughead said with a small smile.

“What?”

“Betty is… the most generous and kind human being I have ever met,” Jughead elaborated.

Cheryl gave him an inquisitive look.

“She gave me half of the treasure,” Jughead said, pulling a heavy-looking bag out of his bookbag.

“Damn.”

“She wanted to give me more,” Jughead said, putting the bag back pawing at the ground with his shoe, “but I couldn’t ever let her do that.”

“When did this happen?”

“When I walked her to her doorstep after you drove her home,” Jughead said. “What a perfect…” He smiled, a real, genuine smile. “Nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Cheryl smiled back.

“Anyway, I’m going home. Or something. There will be a home eventually, anyway,” Jughead said, motioning to his bag.

“Goodnight, Jughead.”

“Goodnight, Cheryl.”

**Thornhill- Saturday, 11;30 P.M.**

Cheryl lay awake in bed, trying to think about anything but the events of the last two days and failing.

Her mind played and replayed the image of Betty, face contorted in anger and hate, thrusting the dreadful knife at her throat.

A crash from downstairs jolted her from her memory and sent her fear reeling.

“Jay-Jay?” She asked, praying it was only him.

No answer.

Cheryl stepped out of bed, and crept out of her room, searching for Jason.

“Jason, was that you? Jay-Jay?”

She stood alone in the hallway, staring at the vase which had been thrust onto the floor by an unseen force.

“Fuck,” she said aloud.

She turned and heard her door slam.

She had to get out; Jason would be safe in his room.

Cheryl bolted.

Halfway through the yard, she saw another figure coming forward in the dark, running towards her, too close for comfort. Cheryl pulled herself to a stop and started running the other way, but she was too late.

She was grabbed by the arm, and whoever was behind her didn’t stop moving.

“What’s happening? Is Jason okay?”

“Betty?”

“Hi, Cheryl. I hope you don’t mind my late-night trespassing but—”

“The ghost isn’t gone,” Cheryl interrupted.

“So I figured,” Betty said, breaking into a run once again. “Come on, I think I know how to get rid of it.”

They blew through the mansion’s massive doors to find the dreaded knife from earlier floating in a rage above their heads.

“Elizabeth Cooper!” The ghost’s voice thundered, thrusting the knife in front of Betty’s face. “How dare you show your face here again! You disgrace, you fool! You ruined _everything_!”

“And _you_!” The knife swung in front of Cheryl. “You Blossom bitch, I want you now. You deserve to die more than your brother.” A sick laugh issued from the air. “This will only hurt a lot.”

As the knife swung, Betty grabbed Cheryl’s hand and the two scrambled into the parlor.

“Where’s the book?” Betty asked frantically.

Knife following them, suspended in the air, Betty and Cheryl dove to the ground and searched for the cursed book that Betty had taken from the library what seemed like ages ago.

“Got it!” Cheryl cried, throwing her arm up, book in hand.

“Stop, you _fiends_!”

Betty leapt and paged open to the ghost’s page, still stained in her blood.

She took hold of the page and yanked it out of the book, then tore the page itself into four pages.

The ghost’s laugh rang out. “You think you can get rid of me that easily?”

As the knife spun in the air and the ghost rambled on about how Cheryl would die for her family’s treachery and Betty would be deeply sorry for her double-crossing her family, Cheryl took the pieces of the page and crumpled them into her fist.

The knife made another swoop for Cheryl’s throat, stopped midair by Betty’s fist. She yanked, pulled the knife to the ground, and struggled to keep it there.

“Stop defending her, Elizabeth!” The voice thundered. “You brought me here! You are my blood, child! You are disgracing your family, you bitch!”

Betty kept the knife pinned to the floor.

“Let go or die!” the voice growled.

When Betty would not relinquish the knife, the ghost made a terrible growling noise and lit all the candles in the room.

“ _Then you shall burn by her side, Cooper._ ”            

The candlesticks crashed to the floor and, with a horrifying _swoosh_ , a small but potent fire exploded from the ground.

Betty let go of the knife, now laying inanimate on the floor, and stumbled toward Cheryl. “Give me the pieces.”

Cheryl tossed the four scraps of paper at Betty as she stood and ran for the other side of the room as Betty thrust the papers into the flames.

There was the sound of screaming, the ghost in agonizing pain, being banished from Thornhill. The knife, too, burned, coming away in paper-thin embers that burned orange on the edges.

The ghost’s yelling was drowned out by the hiss of a fire extinguisher, wielded by Cheryl and aimed at the fire eating away the papers once and for all.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue time! I’d like to thank all y’all who read and commented and left kudos, especially those of you who commented on every chapter! That really meant a lot to me! Thank you so much!! I hope you all enjoy the last installment!

**Thornhill- Sunday, 12:00 A.M.**

In a matter of seconds it was over, the only sign of struggle ashes on the hardwood floor.

Betty stood, eyes wide and alert. “Did we do it?”

Cheryl nodded, openmouthed. “I think so.”

“You okay?”

“I’m okay, you?”

“Just seriously freaked out.”

Cheryl turned to Betty, eyebrows drawn. “How did you know the ghost wasn’t gone?”

Betty licked her lips. “I was thinking about it, I couldn’t sleep. He said we _summoned_ him. This was never about him needing to be laid to rest. This was something we did. I did. He said it was my blood. And then I realized it all started after I cut myself and my blood got on his picture. So I figured we should destroy it.”

“Good thought,” said Cheryl flatly.

“Thanks.”

Cheryl bit her lower lip. “Stay here, Betty.” She left the room, leaving Betty alone in the room where it started.

When Cheryl came back moments later, she was carrying the expensive box from the secret study.

“I want you to have this, Betty,” Cheryl said. “Jughead told me what you did for him and you just saved my life. So I think it’s fitting that you’re rewarded.”

“Oh, no,” Betty shook her head. “I couldn’t accept that. I just found a whole treasure, I don’t need that.”

“I insist.”

“Cheryl, I won’t take it. But thank you. That means a lot.”

Cheryl shrugged and rolled her eyes, trying to downplay her gratitude. “You did a lot,” she said simply

Betty stepped forward and hugged Cheryl. “I’m just glad we’re safe, cousin.”

“Cousin,” Cheryl said thoughtfully.

“Of course,” Betty said. “Distant cousin, but cousin nevertheless.”

“Does this mean someday that bummed-out Danny Phantom you call your boyfriend will be related to me, too?” Cheryl asked, faux dread in her voice.

**Pop’s Chock’Lit Shoppe- Sunday, 7:00 P.M.**

“I slept for thirteen hours,” Veronica announced. “And I’m still tired. And scared. All-around _shook_.”

“Same,” Cheryl said.

Veronica leaned forward and took a sip of milkshake. “Say, did you ever find out why the guys were in the guest house in the first place?”

Cheryl paused awkwardly, then lied. “No idea.”

“Guys are weird,” Veronica grunted.

“Amen to that, sister.”

Cheryl and Veronica raised their milkshake glasses and gave them a clink, then drank.

“But I actually had good reason for calling you here today,” Cheryl started. “Betty refused and you played a pretty big role in fixing this weekend’s fuckery, so I wanted to reward you.” Cheryl reached to side and, from under the table, produced the jewelry box she’d wanted to gift to Betty.

“Cheryl…”

“I know you and your mom have had to face a substandard lifestyle since your father got arrested and this should get you a couple thousand, at least, for some free spending.”

Veronica was much more willing than Betty to accept the gift. In fact, she looked elated.

“Thank you so much,” Veronica beamed, “I don’t know what to say!”

“Say I’m a kind and generous person.”

“You, Cheryl Blossom,” Veronica said, “are a kind and generous person. And you’re my dear friend.” She reached forward and took Cheryl’s hands and planted a kiss on them before leaning back.

Then, she knitted her brows and asked offhandedly, “Do you think there’s something going on between Archie and Jason?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shoot that was cheesy! So there you have it! Everyone is happy and safe and friends, especially Archie and Jason, who spent over twenty-four hours going hard on each other!


End file.
